


An Eye For An Eye.

by Ironworks (Chemical)



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: A little bit of gore, Angst I guess, Gay, M/M, Regret, Some Fluff, a young biker, have fun, idk i canon biker to be in like his early 30s, just a little, small mention of drinking, some gay stuff, yes all the gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7974664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chemical/pseuds/Ironworks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Biker's first kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Eye For An Eye.

**Author's Note:**

> I got bored.

He couldn't remember the first time he'd killed someone.  
Lies.  
He remembered it vividly. But when you asked, he refused to tell, or didn't, as if his mind went blank. Truth be told, it didn't. If he was forced to constantly replay that day in his mind, remember every single /fucking/ detail again, he'd snap.  
"Biker."  
He turned his head to his boyfriend, instantly snapping out of his thoughts.  
"Hm,,?" Biker was a bit surprised, as Jacket never talked much. Jacket looked at Biker with soft, curious green eyes. God. His eyes were so nice. He could stare at them forev-  
"How did you first kill someone?" Jacket spoke softly, voice raspy from little usage.  
Oh.  
Oh god.  
"Haven't I told you already..?" Biker choked, attempting to avoid the question. Jacket shook his head no, laughing. A genuine laugh. It was perfect. Biker took in his features. The small freckles on his face, the dimples, the cute gap in his teeth, the way his eyes lit up- wait.. Yeah. Story time.  
Biker crossed his legs, sighing. "Alright. I'm saying this once, and only once, so listen."  
It was 1972. Just 17. He was just 17. He got his first car.  
Well. Not car. A motorcycle. The most beautiful thing ever. All black, sleek. Purred like a kitten. Roared like a lion when he sped down the road. He was so carefree. Got lost in his thoughts. A free bird.  
He was stopped at the bar, drinking. Didn't really check your id back then. It was parked in the alleyway beside the bar, to prevent anyone from stealing it. Bad idea.  
He was half drunk, when he heard the faint rumble of his motorcycle engine. He stood up, stumbling out of the bar as quick as he could. He soon gained balance, making his way to the alleyway. The tealette's eyes bored into the figure sitting on his bike, and he turned furious.  
"Hey! What're ya doin'?! That's my bike!"  
"Hm? Nah dude. Not anymore it's not. Now scram, fag."  
Biker snorted disgustedly, stepping up to the sitting figure. About a foot taller than him, but he didn't care at this point.  
"The fuck did I just say? Get. Off.  
My. Bike."  
The figure boredly lit a cigarette, blowing smoke into his face. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"  
Biker was hesitant. "I'll.. I'll hurt you. Really badly." It was an empty threat. Couldn't hurt a fucking fly.  
"Hah? You? As if." Oh dear. The guy pulled out a knife. "Get away from the bike. It's not yours no more." The engine roared to life, headlight flickering on.  
Biker was in a state of panic. He kicked the figure as hard as he could. Letting out a whine, the tall man dropped the knife. It clattered to the concrete, not making much noise over the motorcycle engine. Biker picked up the knife, yanking the guy to the ground. Straddling him as best he could, he began punching him. The sound of skin on skin and head on asphalt was pure bliss. The pleads of the figure were drowned out by Biker's laughter, as he raised the knife. He placed it across the figure's neck, and dragged it. Dragged it as hard as he could, and as slow as he could. All he saw was red. Red red red red red. Beautiful red. And then, with a last gag, the figure went limp. Coming down from his high, Biker stared down. Eyes widening in horror, he dropped the sharp object, clamoring off the figure. His hands were shaking, his whole body was shaking. Oh no. Nononononono. He just committed a crime. A straight A student, admitted into college.  
He /murdered/ someone. Biker quickly got onto the cycle, revving the engine and speeding off. His vision was blurry, he couldn't breathe. He was a horrible person. A horrible person. Horrid. Utterly disgusting. Putrid. Filthy. Impure. You can't wash away regret. You can wash away blood, but you can't just wash away the after effects. Fuck. You could even see blood on the bike. It needed repainted.   
The worst part is, he was never caught. 

"Biker? Biker!! Please.. Calm down-" Jacket sobbed, hugging into the male tightly. "You're shaking and you're breathing really hard. It's okay. Look at me. Biker... Please. Look at me. It's okay."  
Biker looked at Jacket, holding onto his letterman. "Please don't let them take me away, please please please please I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" Was all he repeated, squeezing Jacket's letterman in his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. Jacket pressed gentle kisses along Biker's cheeks, along his nose, and finally, kissed him. Biker closed his eyes, breathing calming as he eased into the kiss, sliding his hands up to his neck. Jacket ran his thumbs across Biker's cheeks, pulling away a while after.  
"Better?"  
"Yeah.. Better."  
"I love you, Biker."  
"I love you too, Jacket."


End file.
